


His Cotton Candy Heart

by aristokratischer



Category: Classicaloid (Anime)
Genre: M/M, also mozart is there, his shitty shitty wingman, listen i love mozart being beet's wingman, listen i love these goobers im sorry this is all i write anymore, schubert is loved and respected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 11:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10718358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aristokratischer/pseuds/aristokratischer
Summary: Franz is soft and easily heartbroken. He'd had his heart broken again and again in his past life, and perhaps now he has a second chance. If not to be with someone, then perhaps to let them know of his feelings, at least.





	His Cotton Candy Heart

Franz knew heartbreak. He knew it well in his past life, where he’d pine and pine over his friends just to watch them go with someone else. Some of them, he couldn’t help, some of them, he could have stepped in. Been honest. Said I love you more than life itself and it pains me beyond measure to see you with someone else. No, it would not have changed anything, perhaps. Especially when they were marrying someone for financial stability that he never had. But it would have been fair to himself, to them, if he’d said something instead of swallowing his feelings, smiling past tears that wanted to pour out, let them understand he was hurting.

He didn’t need reciprocation, he needed them to know, perhaps.

A second chance. To do it right.

It was obvious who Beethoven fancied, who he wanted to court. He was attached to Mozart at the hip. He cursed his creator for taking only them, so they had more time to bond. He had no chance from the beginning. And why would he? Who was he? Wolfgang was the wunderkind of Salzburg. Franz? He was nobody. A man who cried over his piano. No wonder he was always forgotten. Because he was nobody, he was nothing, and Ludwig deserved somebody, something.

But it was only fair to himself, to Beethes, to tell him. That’s what Liszt would say, when he told her he was “asking for a friend.”

They were both early risers, a Saturday morning, so Kanae didn’t have to be awake either. Ludwig would be up, counting his coffee beans. He could say it before he left on his morning walk, and then he could run out of the house, away, perhaps if he was lucky, be dragged away by a kite.

He watched out the window, at the bird feeder, listening to the steady rhythm of Ludwig’s counting. Birds kept coming in twos to the feeder—perhaps to mock him. He has someone. You do not.

_Fifty nine. Sixty._

Franz turned slowly, looking into his empty coffee cup. He wanted to vomit it back up. “Beethoven-senpai?” He said softly, once the other started grinding the beans. “I-I-I’ve been meaning to tell you…I…”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow, slowing his grinding to a halt as he put it down on the counter, but was cautious not to look at the other.

“I—I fancy you quite a bit and...” Immediately the other looked up, shock in his blue eyes. Deep blue that Franz could just lose himself in time and time again. And they stood out so much more when he was blushing like this. “And I understand you’re with Mozart, but I—I thought I should tell you!” He set his coffee cup down harshly, before he was about to scamper out the door, to go somewhere far, far away from here.  
But a hand caught him by the wrist.

“You think I’m in a relationship with Mozart.” He repeated, glowering at the other. Well, if Franz never knew fear in his life, he certainly did now.

“You’re so very close—I simply thought—“

“Franz.” The younger composer’s eyes widened slightly. Beethoven-senpai had called him by name. His first name. And even stranger, there was soon a soft pressure against his cheek, one that caused hot red to bloom from that spot, down his neck. “Oh, Franz, you—“

Ludwig pulled back and ran his hands through his hair. What was he going to say?

“Wolf is…a close friend, but nothing more. He is not a man I wish to explore those passions with. He is—he is selfish, he is arrogant, his passions are base at best. He is my friend, but these are true of him as well. You, Franz—“

He reached up, tenderly holding the other’s cheek. He was trying so hard to ignore the shaking of his hands and the red flush in his cheeks. 

“You listen to me. You are gentle, and kind, and soft. You get joy from watching birds fluttering in the morning, you let me count in silence, and…” He sighed, gently wiping away one of the tears that was rolling down Franz’s cheek. A flash of panic crossed his face, had he done something wrong? Why would he be crying? Perhaps he was so overcome with joy, or—or he could hope that. “Shh, shh. Do not cry. You…I…you are the only calm I have in my life, Franz. I-I could only dream of you saying such things to me, as I wondered how to make you mine.” Oh, how difficult it was for Ludwig to keep it together

So much for do not cry. Franz was openly weeping at this point.

“B-but he is the prodigy, I am…I am nothing.”

“You--” How could he say that? That was far beyond humility. How could he put this? “You..Your pieces enrapture my soul, I wouldn’t call that nothing, Franz.”

“But he’s—“

“He’s him. You are you. And Franz, S-Schatz—I have wanted to be with you since the first bars of your pieces.”

Neither of them knew who leaned in to kiss who, it had just happened, Ludwig cupping Franz’s face, Franz’s arms draped over his shoulders. The world seemed to stop, nothing existed for either of them but the sensation of lips upon lips. Beethes tasted like black coffee, and Schubert of milk and sugar and cinnamon, and perhaps that was the taste and the feeling of the dawn of something beautiful.

“Finally!” The two of them pulled apart almost instantly, Schubert with a small shriek of surprise. Mozart. That laugh of his rang through the room as he leaned on the counter, before looking at them with a grin from ear to ear. “Schuu-kun, you do not know how long Beethes has been talking about you.” Franz felt his cheeks lighting up red, and he buried his face in his hands for a moment before looking at the man he was just kissing. “And Beethes, I’m not selfish! I, like a good friend, listened to you rant for the whole week about how to get Schuu to like you.” 

The best way to put what expression was on his face...it was livid. His teeth grit, brows furrowed, eye twitching slightly. 

Motes stood up, rolling his shoulders back, and putting on his best Beethoven imitation: “Wolf, I can’t stop thinking about that man! What I wouldn’t give to--hey!” Ludwig was behind him now, putting a hand over his mouth and hissing in his ear, “He doesn’t need to hear that yet,” prompting quite a bit of squirming from Mozart. “Be quiet.” 

Once he removed his hand, and picked up his bottle of coffee, Mozart had a wicked grin on his face. “What I wouldn’t give to love and make love with him!” Franz froze, that heat creeping down his neck. Ludwig let out a loud groan, before grabbing Franz’s hand, his coffee bottle with the other. 

“We’re not talking about this, Wolf.” He hissed, before looking to Franz, blushing himself. “Would you mind j-joining me? O-on my walk, I mean.” 

“I’d love to.”

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I just want Schubert to be loved and respected and told he's perfect as is he means so much to me I love him so much I just want him to be happy
> 
> also im probably gonna keep coming back and editing this whoops


End file.
